Melinoe
by Artemis Queen of the Stars
Summary: Melinoe: Noun from the ancient Greek of 'Dark Thoughts.' In the darkness of the Gotham underground, can one truly be accepted by chaos despite accepting it themselves? Sequel to Psyche Ratings will go up
1. Psychology of Dreams

**Chapter 1: Psychology of Dreams**

"_What do I dream about Dr. Murphy? You mean what kind of nightmares do I have? Hmmm, probably the last time I had a nightmare was last week. Christopher Lee had died...though that's not great for a psych report is it? Oh well, take what you want from that as you usually do from me."_

-**Patient interview tape 3# patient 64224 AKA: Elizabeth Griffin AKA: Psyche. Dr. Murphy presiding **

46 Years later

The bat cave was silent. All assumptions Terry had previously had had been shattered. Psyche was such a well known member of the old rogue's gallery back in the day, revered by some of the new gangs popping up around Gotham, especially the feminist gang members. Now, he had learnt that she was far from the idealised personification of evil and female strength ("man, is that an oxymoron or not?" he asked himself).

"So instead of that raging feminist people think of her now, she was just Crane's lackey?" He asked dumbfounded. Bruce looked up sharply, a dark shadow fell across his face as he glared at his protégée.

"Have you listened to anything I've said?" Bruce almost snarled, his eyes would have flashed red if they could have. Terry took a step back. If Bruce acted like that when he was Batman, then no wonder he had the criminals of Gotham scared. He needed to damage control the situation

"Well yes but...but what you've just told me doesn't sound like the Elizabeth...Catherine...oh, whatever she called herself! The Psyche everyone knew! My point is, from what you've just told me, she was completely obsessed with Crane and would do anything for him if he just asked her to. I mean come on! What exactly is the difference between her and that Harley chick?

Bruce sighed and turned back to the computer screen. Tapping on the keyboard momentarily, he brought up two images on the computer screen. Terry recognised one instantly.. the other, he had never seen before. One was Elizabeth Griffin's infamous Arkham shot. It was nothing like the picture of a teenager beside it. Terry nearly did a double take, "It's the same woman!" Bruce nodded solemnly.

Terry looked at the two women. The teenager on the left was round faced with dimples, with fairly long, chemically straightened hair which was highlighted with auburn streaks, smiling as if she hadn't a care in the world. The woman on the right, looked like the same girl, but she was different. Gone was the highlighted hair straightened into submission, instead, it was past the point of normally long, was bushy and ridiculously curly. It was no longer colourful, but was a deep dark colour, stuck somewhere between brunette and black. She was no beauty by any stretch of the imagination in any of the pictures. As a teenager, she wore a ridiculously cheesy grin which showed off typically bad English teeth and exacerbated the roundness of her face, giving her a double chin effect. The teenager wasn't ugly, but she would have hardly won Miss England. Despite her cheesy smile, she seemed delightfully shy and coquettish, like a girl who would be welcoming if she got to know you. The woman on the right, Terry looked at her, having to remind himself that it was the same person. It wasn't the fact that her face was no longer obviously covered in make up to hide a multitude of spots, or the obvious cosmetic surgery on her nose. It was the way the woman held herself. In the teen picture, Catherine slouched with typical teenage candour with no consciousness of how she was looking. The grown, unsmiling Catherine however, held herself with a regal countenance. This was helped by her rather large (post surgery) nose which gave her a proud, haughty look. She stood in front of the camera on her mug shot upright, as if judging anyone who looked at the picture for daring to look upon her face. Terry understood why he had never known her real name or story; it would have been easy for her to disappear if nobody intentionally looked for her or knew beforehand her story, then nobody would link this soured woman with the jokey teenager besides her.

"She was never a Harley Quinn Terry." Bruce said solemnly, "You need to understand that. She never was."

"Sounds like you respect her." Terry exclaimed. In all the time he had known Bruce, Bruce had never spoken about any of his enemies like he did at this moment in time. Bruce looked up.

"Pay attention now Mcginis." He said curtly, "You are going to learn probably the most important lesson in being Batman right now."

Terry looked at him with raised eyes, but the old man wasn't registering his successor's presence, he was fixed on the purple rocket boots behind the glass case, lost in memories of the past. He wasn't surprised if Bruce could still see her, standing erect in those boots as she did forty odd years previously.

"When I saw her in that bank for the first time...yes, maybe. But from the first time I took her mask off to the moment I found her unconscious in that alley...and finally, that last time I lay eyes on her...she was never a Quinzel." He muttered, lost in time.

* * *

The sun shone through the roof early in the morning. Catherine Adams groaned, shifting from her position slightly and and buried her head into the rib cage of the man she was entwined with in the makeshift haybed. Dr. Jonathan Crane (more well known in the city that the two people could see out of the hole in the roof as the Scarecrow) opened his eyes to look at the unknown presence sleeping on his stomach. Upon discovering Catherine's dark locks spread over his chest and hiding his face, he smiled sleepily, raising a finger to her head and swept away the hair to reveal Catherine Marie Adams. This sudden exposure to the sun caused the sleeping woman to squirm irritably.

"Go away sun." She groaned, throwing her arm around her head and over Crane, as if trying to meld herself fully with the bemused man beside her. Jonathan stroked the top of her scalp fondly with an elegant, long finger.

"Time to wake up Sparrow." He whispered to her, smiling to himself remembering the first time they had woken up together; only a few days ago, but to him (and Catherine), it was so long ago. Catherine opened her eyes softly, looking up at the man she had broken out of the insane asylum hours ago (presumably). She smiled softly.

"I thought I'd dreamt it." She whispered, "that I'd dreamt it and I'd wake up on a plane back to Yorkshire...I didn't want to wake up..." Suddenly, she hissed in pain, sitting up sharply and staring at her hands. Crane took her wrists and looked down at her bandaged hands. They had begun to weep. He looked to the woman on top of him with interest. She smiled bravely.

"It's nothing Hannibal." She tried to reassure, "I'm fine."

During her captivity under him, Catherine had displayed features of Agliophobia yet now, she had worst physical injuries than anything he had inflicted on her and yet she stared at those which she had inflicted by her own hand calmly, as if they weren't there. Crane wondered at this self restraint she was showing, wondering if the play of last night had changed her. The Catherine he knew before they had given into each other had been vocal in her thoughts and desires, could she now not even say if she was in pain? Had he really broken her in more ways than one? His mind whirled to one Harleen Quinzel. No matter how hard the Joker had hit her, she never seemed to respond. This had always troubled Crane, he had found this non reaction to pain disturbing and in this moment in time, felt anxiety to the idea that Catherine was now just a vacuum of things such as pain or emotion. There was only one way to disprove this. He smiled into her dark eyes lovingly, before dipping his own gaze and squeezing her fingers hard. Catherine screamed loudly. The pain coursed up her arms like electric shocks, causing her back to arch in sheer agony. Crane smiled knowingly. He had been frightened that the noises Catherine had made last night would be the last he heard such divine screams. Now, he was satisfied that his Catherine still existed.

"Come Catherine." He demanded, taking her by the wrists and pulling her up, ignoring their nakedness, "These need redressing."

* * *

The radio in the barn was the two fugitive's only link to the outside world. Two days after Jonathan and Catherine had gone into hiding, the morning news came on to wake them (or more specifically, Cat) with the daily update on the world they were no longer a part of. First, it announced such pointless reports which hardly qualified as news, like Lindsay Lohan being put in jail yet again for drunk driving. It then moved on to the more interesting and reassuring reports on how the disastrous search for the Scarecrow and his 'unknown accomplice' were going (thankfully, the media were under the illusion that an unknown accomplice was the one behind ordering the execution of Catherine Adams and the policewoman. "It'll make your introduction to Gotham easier." Jonathan had remarked by her side). It also brought news Cat didn't want to hear, such as the news that her 'body' had been flown back to the UK.

Hearing her mother's voice on the radio, Cat stood up and walked out of the barn to walk to the edge of the field and sat on the fence looking out on Gotham. She sat there all day, just looking out on the city in the distance. Crane didn't approach her at all as he could see that she needed space, not somebody flapping around her. However, he never left his vigil in the barn door, watching her carefully. When Cat gladly returned inside that night, Crane didn't mention the radio report to her, or ask her how she was feeling. Instead, he offered her a feast of tinned soup and dry bread. Cat smiled and accepted the token wearily, along with water which Crane strictly rationed due to the day's dehydration. They continued the evening silently, he reading psychology articles, she, curled up in a corner of the bar, not speaking a word to each other, apart from when Cat announced in a dead tone that she was going to bed. She got up to climb the ladder to the upper part of the barn where they had designated as their sleeping area, when she felt a tug on her hand. She whipped around to see Crane, still sat on his chair and eyes still fixed on the book in his lap clasping her hand. To anybody else looking in on this, this would seem like a very detached gesture.

"Is there anything I can do for you Sparrow? A mydol? An Atarax? " His eyes still firmly on the book. Cat stared at him expressionlessly, as if she hated him. Rather unexpectedly though, she suddenly flopped onto his chair, throwing her arms around him and buried her head in his shoulders. Crane held her loosely. For a year, he had pulled the strings to Catherine's life, had seen her display every emotion to him; Hate, bitterness, nostalgia. In the last few days she had shown the deepest, rawest forms of loyalty. Never had he seen her cry like this though, pressing her face into his shirt. He may have been a specialist in human fear, but to Jonathan Crane, human behaviour still remained a mystery.

"Psyche." He muttered, holding her loosely. Two days had passed since Catherine Adams had given up her life and busted him out of Arkham, and two days had passed since Catherine had given herself willingly and passionately to Dr. Crane, yet he still felt uneasy when she touched him. Years of isolation had left him unfamiliar with humanity and the most basic of emotions. For Cat though, he resolved to make an effort. He wrapped his arms around her tightly and stood up. Due to the massive difference in height, it wasn't hard to completely lift her off the ground. With Cat still silently crying into his shoulder, he carried her fireman-like up the stairs to the upper loft and laid down with her on the makeshift hay bed they had constructed (as opposed to the first night when they had simply take each other on the floor). Stroking her hair gently, he heard her giggle manically.

"Shame, if this was fiction, I wouldn't be crying over something like this. I wouldn't be like this just because I heard my mum's voice on the radio." She mumbled, chastising herself angrily into his shirt.

"It's alright Sparrow." Crane assured her, "Unfortunately for us, humans rarely change their thought patterns. I doubt in a film that the director would bother carrying on with life after the big scene, showing the reality of life after a person's decision. It doesn't give the same closure to all the herd that paid to see a romantic scene so that they can go home and carry on their own dull, unfulfilled lives...Catherine?" He looked. Cat was no longer crying into his shirt, instead, her head was turned to the side and her eyes were closed. She was lost in a much needed and much welcome sleep. Crane sighed. Even though the best thing for her was sleep, it still irked him that she had fallen asleep during his rant. How could she fall off suddenly like ...like a cat anyway? He'd never know.

"Hush little Sparrow don't say a word,

Hannibal will buy you a mockingbird"

* * *

Nothingness. Cat stretched her hands out into the vast darkness, calling out in confusion.

"Hannibal?" She called uneasily, was he watching her on the camera again? It wasn't possible! She was out of the cell wasn't she? She couldn't see a thing. "Where are you?" She shivered. Could she really be this needy for Crane after only being away from him for a day? Wait! If she wasn't in his cell, and she wasn't in the hospital, where was she?

"Jonathan!" She yelled out. In the back of her head, she was yelling at herself. Why be so scared? Only the weak felt fear.

"Nothingness." A strange voice growled in the dark, "Nothingness and that's what you deserve."

She woke with a start, shivering under her quilt. In her half asleep haze her body was frozen in a sleep induced paralysis. Fighting the fear beating in her chest, she stretched her arm out to where Crane had been when she had fallen asleep, the fear screamed out intensely when she grabbed thin air. In her drowsy state, she moaned out.

"HANNIBAL!" She sat up sharply. All was well; she was back in the barn. As the memories came flooding back to her, she sighed in relief. It was just a dream...but where was Crane?

Cat looked around confused. When she had fallen asleep, she had been in Crane's arms. Now, for the first time since she had broken him out of prison, she had no idea where it was...and that knowledge scared her.

A quiet grunting came from outside the barn, causing Cat to jump slightly in shock. It sounded angry. As if Crane was fighting some unfortunate soul who had stumbled across their hideout. Cat eased herself down the steps quietly. If somebody was daring to attack Jonathan then she could take them by surprise. Pulling Baptiste's gun out of her belt, she edged to the door and swung herself round, pointing the gun. What she saw made her gasp.

Jonathan Crane stood by the door by himself, his orange Arkham shirt off, revealing his gangly, scarred body. He stood erect in the moonlight, flailing his arms around in a semi elegant position, bringing his left leg up with his arms in a graceful pose which reminded Cat irresistibly of the martial arts films she used to be obsessed with. The martial arts films which were probably still on her shelf in her room back in England. Crane's foot swiftly came up in a block for an imaginary adversary, before bowing his head and bringing his fists up in a flailing motion, but shaping them into a beak motion upon contact of the air. Cat gasped, she had never imagined Crane to be the fighting sort, he always come across as a thinker instead of a fighter, leaving it up to his henchmen or the Scarecrow (who even then, only really used a gun). Watching him now though, Cat felt her eyes light up and a knowing smile played on her lips.

"Crane style Hannibal?" She asked, quite loudly, causing him to spin round sharply. Seeing Cat holding a gun, his eyebrows rose.

"After today, I must confess Catherine that I did wonder if you were having second thoughts" He sighed heavily, picking his shirt up off the ground and put it on, buttoning it back up, "Though the lengths you would go to to free yourself of me, I must say, the Scarecrow would be proud." Cat looked at him confused, before realising that she was still holding her gun.

"This? Wait, no! I'm not...don't worry...I couldn..."

"That's all I need to know." He smiled cockily, turning his back on Cat and walking back into the barn. Cat stood on the spot blankly. What the hell had just happened?

"Hang on! What's all you need to know?" She demanded, storming back into the barn. After a year, she thought that she'd be used to Crane's idiosyncrasies like talking to himself and walking off...or saying something sarky and walking off. Pounding back into the barn, Cat yelped a little when she came back face to face with Jonathan. Jonathan holding two glasses in one hand and a bottle of Vega Sicillia Unico 2000 in the other with a smirk on his face.

"All I need to know about you Catherine, is that when you do leave me, you'll just shoot me point blank. You won't be babbling like an idiot when that day comes." He said sarcastically, "Because just now was the latter, I think it calls for a celebration." And strove past her into the cornfield.

Cat stood in the door for a second shell shocked. What the hell happened? She sighed heavily. Crane still had the power to play her like a violin.

"Sparrow, this bottle cost $500, it's a bit sad for me to drink it by myself." Jonathan muttered from outside. Cat sighed, admitting defeat and joining Crane outside under the stars. Taking a glass from Crane, she groaned, letting herself fall into the corn beside him.

"I was...concerned." She mumbled, "I woke up and you weren't there...and then I heard noise. I thought you were being attacked..."

"Much appreciated." Crane smiled slightly, "Regrettably, I'm afraid sleep will never be a pleasure for me as it is for you, so I'm afraid I cannot be by your side whilst you sleep, I would be bored to even attempt to do so. Please do not be afraid in future Sparrow, believe me, there will be more things in Gotham which will frighten you more..."

"I won't be afraid!" She snorted indignantly, "I've lived with you for a year,you pushed me to the edge and, let's face it, I think now I've seen the worst..."

"There's a marked difference between me preparing you to face fear and actually coming up against fear." He retorted sharply. "Only a fool knows no fear, you'd do well to remember that Catherine."

Cat looked to her side, Crane was still sat up opening the bottle of wine. He was right, even he felt fear (though Cat was probably the only person who had ever seen what she saw and lived to keep her mouth shut). Cat sighed , she still had so much to learn.

"But here, do not fear my Sparrow, nobody will come across this place, as isolated as it is." He reassured her, offering her a glass of the sparkling liquid. "To your long and illustrious career by my side then my Psyche." He toasted courteously, raising his glass. Cat stared at the bottle. True, she loved alcohol. Before her kidnapping, she was obsessed with cocktails and rosé wine. Now however, after a year on just water and the fact that it was the middle of the night, she wasn't so sure.

"In the cell, I was so free of time I probably ate breakfast in the evening for all I know and think you'd woke me up in the morning to eat. Now...I don't know, guess it'll take me a while to settle back into normal time." Crane smiled.

"The red fox," He stated cockily, looking to his side at her, "is a nocturnal creature, they like to confuse their enemies... like you. They are so like you, I'm sure if they could, they'd drink fine wine as well." Cat smiled, sipping at the wine. After a year of just drinking water, the alcohol went straight to her head, causing the world to spin and make her feel as if she was floating. She clung to Jonathan tightly.

"Are you calling me a vixen?" She smirked at the implication, much to Crane's disapproval.

"I'm calling you a creature of the night now." He corrected, "A creature of the darkest of night, removed from the ilk of the city. It does not matter that we are not in our room and you are not in a straightjacket. Where we are concerned, time has no hold on us"

"Probably a good thing to stay up anyway." She sighed, "The weird dream I just had."

"Oh?" Crane's ears pricked up. He specifically specialised in fear, but he had always had a soft spot for dreams, for dreams are the hotbed for phobias in which no one can escape. Cat opened her mouth to tell him about her dream. She had no idea why it had scared her as much as it did, it didn't make any sense. In the end, she just shut her mouth and whispered:

"Never mind, I've forgot it now."

For the rest of the night, Cat and Jonathan stayed under the stars, drinking wine and discussing the meaning of dreams.

"Do you think dreams can tell the future Hannibal?" Cat slurred unexpectedly. Crane regarded her quizzically.

"Prophetic dreams Sparrow?" He asked, trying his best to seem genuine, but betrayed his sneer. Cat looked to her side and frowned.

"Yeah...you know? You dream and you see the future...like Angela Petrelli ...you know?"

"Catherine." Crane sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Apart from the initial suggestion, which insulted him as an intellect, he doubted that anybody could have fitted so many 'you knows?' into a sentence like Cat had just done. On top of that, she was referencing some idiot thing he had no idea about, clearly a throwback to her 'sane' days. Cat noticed the tone in his voice and banged him angrily with her elbow.

"I'm serious Jon! The ancient Egyptians put a lot of stock in what the priestesses dreamed about. That and the Spartans..."

"Catherine." He repeated again, this time, much firmly, "I'm sure many an ancient society read too much into dreams, but there's a reason those societies are not around today."

Everything from the possibility that dreams were prophetic, to the pros and cons of the Psychoanalytical approach to dreams was discussed after that. It was a lively debate which carried on for the rest of the night, with Cat arguing that dreams represented what the subject knew already and manifested itself in their dreams as repressed desires. Crane argued that dreams did not represent repressed desires, dreams were in fact, manifestations of what a subject had been thinking all day and to relate it all back to sex was a very naive and mainstream view. As the sun dawned, Crane was carrying Cat back to the barn like she was nothing more than a child. Laying her back on the straw and covering her with the blanket again, he looked down at her in the manner a snake regards it prey.

"I promise you Sparrow." He whispered to her, "Dreams don't come true. I'd always be looking over my shoulder for my Grandmother wielding a scythe if they did."

* * *

The next morning, Cat woke up confused. It was bright and clearly fully daytime, yet she hadn't been woken up by radio Gotham's 8'o clock news. Crane had removed the radio, only to turn it back on days later with Cat's expressed consent, and never set to go off when the news was on ever again.

* * *

**Hey Fanfic.**

**Yep, as promised, here is the first chapter of the long awaited sequel to Psyche. Apologise if this appears to be a bit slow, I didn't want to write fluff but did want to show something of their life in the barn. Next chapter, we meet a new character who will feature heavily in this story (little clue: if you've read The Game, he likes Ferrero Roche's) and the story will kick off from there x**

**If you've just joined this cannon, I suggest reading "Psyche first because...well otherwise this isn't going to make any sense lol.**

**My other running story "The Game" is a future storyline to this, but don't worry, with the way uni's going, there won't be any major spoilers to this before I finish the Game, though next chapter will cover why The Riddler and Catherine hate each other so much**

**Agliophobia is fear of pain.**

**Competition time: In the last story Psyche, Cat rescued Crane from Arkham. I wrote an alternative, funnier version to that and to one lucky Psyche fan, I'll email it to them and them alone. All you need to do is draw a picture of Catherine as Psyche, or even a scene from Psyche if you wish. Then, put it on Deviant Art under the heading "Artemis's competiton" and send me a link. The top 3 shall be plugged in the story and one person shall win that alternative plot. **

**Also, big shout out to Decepti-Kitty for her pictures of Catherine already. Thanks for plugging Psyche hun xxxx**

**Artemis out **

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**


	2. Mr E

Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter :D love you guys xxxx

* * *

**Chapter 2: Mr. E**

For two weeks, Catherine and Jonathan's world revolved around the barn. Unlike her previous captivity, Cat was free to leave the barn as she pleased, yet despite this theoretical freedom, never did Catherine go running through the corn freely, indeed, it never crossed her mind to do so. She stayed close to Crane, learning from him. In the beginning, he taught her the formula for concocting his infamous fear toxin, using a chemistry kit which he had stowed away in the place he had designated as a hide out from the Bat. This task of training his new helpmate in fear wasn't as straight forward as Crane would have liked.

"What are you doing Catherine?" He demanded, snatching the pestle and mortar from her. Catherine tore her gas mask off angrily.

"You said add a millilitre of laudanum! That's what I'm doing you twat!" She snarled dangerously. Crane rolled his eyes from behind his mask. If this was still when Catherine was his prisoner, she wouldn't have dared be disrespectable as she was now. From the recesses of his mind, the Scarecrow chuckled.

"Yeah 'you twat,' learn to play nice." He admonished Crane, clearly enjoying the scene unfolding before him. Crane looked at him witheringly.

"How about you do something constructive?" He asked his compatriot sarcastically, "You were always so keen to punish her for cheek beforehand." To this, Scarecrow snorted.

"I'm not a toy '_Hannibal'_" he growled, "I will take a chainsaw to her throat, be assured of that, but only if she betrays us. Petty domestics? Don't make me laugh." Realising he was alone (and in that moment of seeing that Cat's scientific knowledge was incredibly lacking), he cleared his throat.

"It's alright...Sparrow." He said with some difficulty (what kind of person couldn't follow a simple set of instructions?) "It's not your fault that you aren't gifted in the scientific and mathematical area, you're just better adapted to lesser skills..." Whilst in his head, Jonathan Crane thought that he was paying her a compliment at her more than capable knowledge of History, but he never got that far. A glass beaker sailed across the room and smashed on his own gas mask.

"CATHERINE!" He yelled angrily, ripping it off and painfully accidentally pulling out a few black hairs as he did it. Despite feeling Crane's pain, the Scarecrow swore that he could have died laughing at that moment in time. What really made the moment ever so exquisite though came seconds later from outside.

"FUCK!" Cat screamed angrily, realising that there was nowhere else to go. The Scarecrow smirked.

"What the hell do I do now?" Crane demanded in his head angrily. Scarecrow smirked wickedly.

"Learn to fuck her properly? Maybe then she wouldn't be as defiant?" The Scarecrow suggested. Then the piece d'resistance came from outside.

"OR HOW ABOUT YOU LEARN SOME FUCKING PEOPLE SKILLS YOU TOSSER?" Cat screamed from outside. Crane's mouth dropped open.

"You spoke that part out loud?" He demanded angrily, "How much did she hear?"

"Oh, just the whole thing Johnny Boy." Scarecrow grinned like a Cheshire Cat, "Messing with yours and hers little minds is just too funny. _Peter Peter pumpkin eater. Had a wife and couldn't keep her..."_

_

* * *

_

To say that Jonathan Crane wasn't accustomed to human contact was an understatement , and to say that he was completely clueless on how to handle a pissed off woman (despite his above average intellect) was blaringly obvious. Despite the fact that Catherine had been told the words "I love you" and she had seen him naked, with her behaviour, she was still unpredictable and would never respect him in the way Harleen did with the Joker. Then again (Crane mused), would he want somebody that was too scared to talk back to him? At first, he mused over the pros of such an example. Then again, what had made Catherine stand out to him during her captivity was her sheer ballsyness , and again yesterday, he had seen just how dangerous she could be. Jonathan sighed, he had been alone way too long to know how to handle the situation now.

"You know, people at university who were in relationships always pissed me off because the majority were always arguing. Guess I always thought whatever relationship I'd end up in wouldn't be petty enough to have idiotic bickering...or at least hold up on it till AFTER the two day period." An English accent said quite loudly, breaking Crane from his thoughts. He looked up. Cat was stood there in the door way, standing tall and proudly with her arms crossed and not an emotion on her face as she looked at him intently. Crane stopped himself from blushing in surprise of a woman walking in on him and stared back at her.

"Still haven't ran for the hills then Catherine?" He asked monotonously. His mind flashed back to when she had stormed out of the living room in the house and getting only as far as the kitchen. There, the door had been locked. What was her excuse for not leaving completely now? Cat began moving towards him, a dead expression still firmly on her face.

"I got to the edge of the field and felt like there was a barrier stopping me." She said coldly, "After just standing at the fence for...I don't know...the sun's setting, so I'll guess it's been a while...I thought I might be able to leave if I could fly again... To fly into the sky without you and just cease to exist. Wouldn't that be a lovely thought? My head's up in space and everything dances usually, I felt I could just kick off and leave all this behind. Then remembered I'd left them in here." Crane looked down at her feet. They were black from the mud, as were the rest of her legs. To say that it hadn't been raining, he wondered what she had been up to outside, or if she indeed knew that she had spent the day walking around like a bare footed savage. Cat continued edging towards him as he looked up. All anger had gone from her face, like a violent forest fire which had burnt out.

"I thought about it...and next thing that registered, I was walking back to get them...then something...I don't know...the dream I had yesterday...I didn't tell you because it was stupid...but I dreamt of nothingness...do you understand Hannibal?" Crane continued to regard her with interest and bemusement at the present situation. Beforehand, it had worked on a "talk then listen" status. Now, he was the one required to listen whilst Cat talked. "I woke up screaming because I felt the darkness and hopelessness consume me...and I can't bear that! I left the world because it was pointless to me...if I was to leave...I really would be proving your point...wouldn't I Scarecrow?"

Jonathan nearly did a double take, as he felt himself drift from reality and felt the Scarecrow push his way into control. Whilst he was shocked at Cat's sudden switch in focus, he grinned evilly.

"Of course." He smirked, "You're yet to show me your sexy side little monster, I grow tired of such inane prattle. Plus, if you can't mix chemicals together, you won't last long with us."

"Scarecrow!" Crane snapped from his mind, true, Scarecrow was speaking the uncomfortable truth, but he had grown so used to her over the year and she was his! He didn't need the Scarecrow pointing out the major flaw in their relationship. Cat however began to giggle manically.

"Relationships... don't work the way they do in the movies." She was now right in front of the two men, arms crossed and hands tilted so that her fingers never touched, looking at them as if to challenge them to defy her logic. "The other night was wonderful...but we have to face facts...at some point, yes, you'll realise I'm not...not an extension of you like the Scarecrow...I'm not everything you wish you were. I've come to terms with that...that you're human. I promise you Hannibal...I'll try and fit into your world, but you have to be patient alright? And Scarecrow? Don't fuck with me again, next time I won't fall for it." Scarecrow stared at her put out. He knew Cat had the temper of him and the sensitivity of Johnny-Boy, but the dead and practical way in which she was now speaking...that was Psyche coming out. In response, he took her wrists.

"And so you stay for another night Psyche?" He jeered mockingly, "You think we're fine with some cheesy speech?" Cat simply leaned in to the psychopath and smiled.

"Only when I stop to think about you I know, only when you stop to think about me, do you know?" She sang coldly, "You hate everything about me, why do you love me?"

"You think this is a fucking musical?" He hissed to her threateningly, to which, Cat smiled for the first time that day.

"You think you're putting me to sleep when you recite those fucking nursery rhymes?" She countered, leading to Scarecrow 'hmmphing' amused.

"I'll leave you two to it then." Before retreating back into his mind, grabbing Crane by the scruff of his neck and pushing forward. Crane cleared his throat embarrassed, realising that he was in a situation in which he was not accustomed. He tried to remember what he did the other night, but he couldn't remember how he got to then end, just that the end result was amazing. He looked at the tiny woman before him, registering that she couldn't leave the edge of the field for fear of being without him. He felt an unfamiliar stir of gratefulness, yet something still troubled him. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He gritted his teeth together and growled. He felt his face begin to flush in shame, it was all her fault that he was now embarrassed! Why did she have to stand there mocking him? Wanting things from him? Why did...

Crane's thoughts were shattered however, when Cat stood on her toes and kissed him gently on his mouth. Crane hitched a little in shock, but funnily, felt all anger towards Cat drain out of him as he responded awkwardly. Catherine didn't seem to mind this however, and smiled slightly at this reconciliation. Pulling away, Crane sighed wearily.

"_A wise old owl lived in an oak. The more he saw the less he spoke. The less he spoke the more he heard. Why can't you be like that wise old bird? _People talk too much." He sang sadly, "You...talk too much."

Nothing else was said, no emotion conveyed. They made up quietly that night.

* * *

Catherine and Jonathan would go on to remember their time in the barn fondly years later. Though concocting fear toxin was put on a back burner, Crane took it upon himself to prepare her, for Gotham, for the Batman...for the rest of his associates. This mostly transpired in martial arts lessons of his own style. Owing to Cat's general scrappy nature, and the violent streak which had been suppressed for so long, he found her a keen and delightful pupil. This was during the day. At night, they would sit out, discussing everything in the world, mostly Cat challenging Crane to talk about the life she did not know, building on the images that she had already witnessed. He talked only a little about his childhood in Georgia, preferring instead to focus on his life at university. What Cat did squeeze out of him though, she smiled bemused. She smiled at the fact that he used to love Playstations ("till I realised what a waste of time and mind killer it was" He had adamantly stated), idolised Lara Croft and was so poor during his childhood that to indulge in his obsession with comic books, he would steal. She smiled some more. The once ignored geek had grown into the God she worshipped. It was quite funny to her how he resembled a normal man, like she had resembled a normal woman, yet they were not normal. They had experienced the very edges of fear and sanity, they alone saw the world for all its mindlessness and pointlessness. Yes, he looked like a man, she looked like a woman. She had chided him for being human, and he had criticised her faults, but they were merely masquerading as such. In that barn, they knew and discussed all. No subject was taboo, no topic too stupid. In that barn, they were gods, overlooking the city that would belong to them.

One night, whilst lying on a blanket under the stars, he turned his head to her, her long brunette hair was fanned out on the ground and he lay on top of it. In a sleep deprived stupor, she sleepily wondered where she ended and he began.

"You must take care when you meet my associates." He said softly to her, "These are some of the most dangerous people you will ever meet..."

"You're kidding right?" She smiled sleepily, "I survived a year with you, I think I know the worst..."

"Never say that." He cautioned her sharply, sitting up quickly and glaring hard, "They are dangerous...like me Sparrow, yes they are. It has been so long since the thought of killing you crossed my mind, but you remember don't you? Don't you?"

"Yes." She sighed. The memories of the beatings, the mind games and the torture still resonated in her mind, as much as she loved Jonathan Crane, she was under no illusion that he could kill her (whether or not he would remained to be seen). If Crane still carried that threat despite what she apparently meant to him, she shuddered to think about meeting somebody like Jonathan, only without the loyalty to her.

"Are they like you?" She asked, her mind flashing to the images she had seen when Crane was tortured by that bastard Strange. In that moment, Cat had truly seen Jonathan Crane, and whilst it hadn't changed him, it was undeniable that that was the turning point of their relationship. Had the rest of these so called villains gone through something like Crane had? Crane looked at her amused.

"I have spent years researching them Catherine. They all have their psychosis; they are quite childlike in that sense. But, you need to watch out for one in particular. The Clown." Cat smiled. Crane used to tell her of his exploits, and occasionally hint at what they were like, but the Joker would always have a place in her heart as it was his volatile reputation that she was banking on getting revenge for all slights against her before she joined Crane, from those bastards from her drama society to the reporter who dared to break into her room in the hospital. She smirked as she remembered the just and brutal revenge she had taken, all of which banked on the horror stories Jonathan had told her and the promise that Joker would avenge anybody who portrayed him in a way he didn't find 'funny.' Yes, it was true that Cat was well versed in the tales Crane would tell her about the other rogues in Gotham (whether by accident, or by quid pro quo in their sessions, Crane had taught her about the others), what was different however, was hearing about them and have a warning come with them was something new all together. She figured that Crane never anticipated the fact that she might one day meet the rogue gallery, which was probably why his warning now came with a secondary warning of never tell any of them what he had told her in confidence.

"Tomorrow, we need to leave." He announced, causing Cat to sit up with him.

"Leave here? Bu..."

"Catherine." He said firmly, "We cannot stay here much longer. We have been in hiding for too long, this being cut off from the outside world to this extent isn't good for you..."

"But we can stay here. We don't need the world Johnny, they didn't want us! We can stay here, just the two of us and create our own utopi..."

"Catherine." He said more dangerously now, "You are starting to sound pathetic. You knew what I was when you rescued me. You knew that this was just temporary..."

"Bu..."

"And for future reference Katie," He was practically snarling now, "Never call me Johnny ever again. Johnny's dead and buried in Georgia. I killed that small town hic and laid him to rest when I left for university."

"I'm sorry Jonathan." Cat apologised profusely. She tried to apologise for wanting to stay up in the barn, but she wasn't sorry. Memories whirled in her mind. Outside the barn, there were people, people wandering the streets aimlessly, just wanting what they could get to bring a thrill...men who wanted to put their hands on her...

"Hurt me." She whispered, full of fear. She wrapped her arms around Crane's waist and just held on. Eddie Del Mayo had made her like this, all men but Jonathan were like him and she'd never forgive mankind for what happened. "Eddie will hurt me." She managed to whisper at last. Crane sighed. His fondest wish was that he could see people's fears when they were exposed to his toxin, but he didn't need foresight to know that Cat was still terrified of men. He did not put his arm around her. Such affection would merely reinforce this ridiculous mindset she was trapped in.

"Tomorrow." He said curtly, standing up and going back into the barn, leaving Cat sat upright on the tattered rug, lost in her own thoughts. Upon re-entering the barn, he picked up a beaker at the chemistry set and began adding different acids and chemicals. He had spent way too much time indulging Catherine, it would be alright as soon as he returned to his rightful post as the God of Fear, then Psyche would truly emerge and Catherine wouldn't be as reliant on him, she'd be the woman he had uncovered. He wasn't a fool, she was starting to develop agoraphobia even though she was out of the cell. Though to be fair, in the cell, she was that stubborn, she probably forced herself not to develop such a fear of open spaces just because she wanted to fight him. Now though, the tables had turned and she wasn't alone. Ironically, she was beginning to show symptoms of Stockholm Syndrome with her inert childishness and helplessness when she wasn't actually a prisoner. No, tomorrow he would begin her therapy properly. He first thought of hiding the two of them at Jervis's until they were back on their feet, but he quickly crossed that out in his head. Firstly, he had no idea of where Tech was and secondly, Catherine was terrified of men, it would be suicide to take her to a known rapist's house. Maybe Pam's? This was quickly vetoed, if he took her to that man hater, he'd wake up with Catherine trying to castrate him. No, there was only one person he could take her and be sure of her safety and his own welcome. The closest thing he considered an equal in the Gotham Underground and as far as he was concerned, a great ally. Edward Nygma, AKA: The Riddler. He put the beaker down thoughtfully.

"I can't take Catherine with me." He said to himself firmly. "Not if she's like this. If she can't be strong without me, I mean, she told me she'd be fine, but maybe I shouldn't have kept her up here for so long..."

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" Scarecrow asked, his finger twitching and his eye drifting to the object left on the table from two weeks ago. Jonathan nodded.

She needed to be that powerful, independent woman whom he was at the feet of two weeks ago, the woman who had returned to him by choice, not the one who slept in his bed now. She was dangerous, yes, but she had grown too accustomed to their life in the barn. She needed to change, otherwise she'd be no use when he'd introduce her to the crime scene. She had already promised him that she'd be able to survive without him, but she didn't even leave the perimeter without him, and she had just revealed that she was scared of men. He may as well cut her throat as the kindest thing, because she couldn't go back to her old life, nor reintegrate with society if she feared half the population. He had too much regard for her to let her become a snivelling wreck like that, if she couldn't prove that this was a small hiccup, he'd have to do the unimaginable. A small rustling of hay told him that Cat had re entered the barn. A small nod from Crane and the Scarecrow snatched up Baptiste's gun which Jonathan has placed on the table after Cat had thrown it to the floor. He spun around and fired it.

Cat screamed in pain, her knees becoming unsteady but holding her balance. Inwardly, something inside of Crane hitched in panic, but the darkness within him prevailed and he didn't move, both he and Scarecrow stayed, eager to see what happened next. Cat brought her hand down from her cheek. To her relief, it was only a flesh wound. She would live another day. She steadied herself and glared at Crane. The different colours in his two eyes meant that both Crane and the Scarecrow were watching. Both he and Crane had fired at her. An anger which she hadn't felt for two weeks when she threatened to kill Crane bubbled inside of her. The pain in her cheek throbbed, but she ignored it, she was too furious to pay it any heed. She marched towards the two men and stopped. Crane and Scarecrow looked at her with interest, keen to see if she would burst into tears or not. Scarecrow 's finger was on the trigger again, ready for Jonathan's order. Jonathan looked at her with the same sense of dread one may feel when they're about to put their dog down.

Suddenly, Cat shrieked and threw a punch, because of the height difference of the two of them, she couldn't hit the head like she would have loved to, but she aimed for his solarplex , something she knew from a childhood of being beaten up by her brother, hurt a lot. Crane dodged it with inhuman speed, keen to avoid being beaten by a woman. This only enraged Cat more, who launched herself at him, rugby tackling him to the ground. For ages, the two of them grappled on the ground, trying to gain dominance over the other, her arms flew up, thankfully, her hands were still bandaged so she couldn't scratch him. Crane wasn't stupid, he knew he had to subdue her; otherwise she'd rip his head off. She threw her head into him, sinking her teeth into his skin. Scarecrow took a step back, observing the situation with glee.

"Oh yeah bitch, we've been naughty, smack us." He crooned from Crane's head. Jonathan growled at him.

"Not helping Scarecrow!" He yelled inwardly. This only led to The Scarecrow bursting out in evil, uninhibited laughter.

"It's helping me Johnny-Boy." He cackled, "It's helping me a lot. I think I like her angry."

Realising that he wouldn't get any help from Scarecrow, who seemed incapacitated with laughter, Crane wrapped his legs around Catherine and swung her underneath him, pinning her arms down as she thrashed underneath him like a wild animal, snarling.

"Hate." He said to her coldly, "You must always remember this hate. Never put your faith in humans Catherine, you'll just end up bitterly disappointed. Remember this hate for me. Put it within you and remember it when we are separated. It won't hurt as much if you do..."

"I DO hate you!" She screamed still thrashing like a caged animal, "I do..."

"And I'd have killed you if you didn't." He hissed at her cruelly, "Bear that in mind in the future. But if you think you hate me, imagine how much I hate you! You who forces me to do these things to you, then compels me to wish you to stay alive..." In that moment, he knew he said too much, looking at Cat's eyes widen in shock. She stopped thrashing and stared at him, panting hard. He got off her and stood up.

"Go to bed Catherine." He ordered half heartedly, "Tomorrow we leave." Cat picked herself up and stared at him coldly. Suddenly, she snorted and spat at the two men, directly in the eye.

"Whilst we're talking about hate." She snapped frostily, "I hate wearing Burlap. It's bloody irritating." Before stalking back up to the loft.

"So we keep her?" Scarecrow asked, much later. Crane nodded.

"She's not a lost cause yet. I just need to put her into intensive therapy again." He diagnosed clinically. Scarecrow snickered again.

"Good. I could get used to that little cougar. And they say English women are frigid."

* * *

And so, Cat sadly watched as the barn vanished into a distance as the potato truck drove her and Crane away from the place she had been happiest in ages. She knew that it was a childish fantasy that they stay there, some remnant of her old way of thinking, but she had been happy there. She was dressed in a lumberjack's jacket and worn denim jeans which Crane had thrown at her, no doubt something to make anybody who came near the barn think that he was merely a farm worker instead of a criminal mastermind. Crane sat across from her, holding onto the side precariously. His hat was jammed down hard lest the driver recognised him. He glared at Cat to do the same, but she wasn't paying attention. He couldn't help but smile at the wistful, sorrowful look on her face.

"What are you thinking Catherine?" He asked, like he used to back in the cell. Cat didn't look at him, but smiled slightly, eyes still fixed on the rapidly disappearing building.

"Just saying goodbye." She said simply. Crane nodded. He had never felt sentimental attachments of any kind to any place, but he could understand that Cat, in her confused state, was fond of the little used hideout because, like the cell, there had been only her and him (and Scarecrow), life had been simple for her there, a blissful bubble. Now, it was time to throw her into something completely different.

"Put your cap on Sparrow." He said, glancing at the driver. He had cans of toxin and a knife poised at any hint that the menial fool recognised Cat. He knew he didn't need to worry however. As cruel as it sounded on Cat's part, he knew that two weeks was enough for the common man to forget about her. That was it, she had been declared dead, case closed and the world could move on to the next problem, she had nobody in America to mourn her, her family were all back in the UK, and British news paid no heed to such an insignificant place as Gotham in the grand scheme of things. No, she was safe in that respect. He turned his eyes back to his new partner. It didn't matter if anybody still remembered her anyway, she looked so different to her picture now. All her appeal posters had the same smiling, chubby and tanned child on them with sleek, dyed hair. In her worker's clothes, with her face bare and bushy hair messily tied up, with frizzy strands falling out, she was a different person all together. They stayed silent the rest of the journey, neither having anything important to say.

Walking through Gotham, the two attracted more looks for Jonathan's height instead of Cat walking around resurrected. She had to stifle a laugh when she heard a small, plump looking child say to his mother in a shrill, annoying voice:

"Look at that tall hobo Mommy!" She shuddered inwardly and kept the depressed, downtrodden look she had decided to role play. It reminded her of when she'd volunteered as a classroom assistant in the first semester of third year, and when she had made up her mind that she hated small children because of their stupidity. She wasn't surprised that two hobo's could walk down the street and not be stared at, in such a vast concrete jungle, the down and outs rubbed shoulders with everyone else and served as a kind of reminder to the rest never to end up like them. Cat looked at the people crowding the streets like locust. How pointless their lives were, and yet they didn't see what she could. She wished fervently to be able to tell Jonathan of the now laughable scene of her skipping down these streets the morning she had arrived in Gotham, though of course, she couldn't talk to him with people around. His cap was jammed down so low to avoid detection and he was concentrating on where he was going. She sighed and switched the shoulder on which she carried the black bin liner which contained her new rocket boots, purple boob tube and white mask. She had burnt the hood, skirt and black leather gloves that morning, pointedly ignoring Crane as she did. She was his body and soul, but she was her own person, not an exact copy of Jonathan. Together, her and Crane had watched it all shrivel and burn, though she couldn't for the life of her understand why he was smiling. Thinking back to that moment now, Cat prayed that one day, she could read his mind, for Jonathan Crane would always confuse her.

"Wait here." He commanded suddenly, disappearing into a phone booth and picking up a yellow pages. At first Cat imagined madly that he'd ask her for change to ring a number, instead, he threw it back down and coming out, marching off down the street as Cat ran behind him, trying not to throw up with all the men overcrowding the street, at any minute, likely to attack her.

* * *

It wasn't impossible for a rogue to live comfortably. Edward Nygma stretched out in his armchair and bit into a truffle. If he did say so himself, he was a gifted computer genius and this skill certainly came in handy when it came to finding suitable accommodation. The Joker may have been quite happy sleeping in warehouses, but Nygma's refined tastes only let him take such measures when there was no other option. Quite simply, one only needed to find a flat of some old dear who had died and left no family, in which case the place would be turned over to the banks. This was the easiest part though (so easy for his brain that it was insulting...or so he thought), for he would simply hack into the bank's mainframe, turning the deeds over to an alias of his before anybody cared enough about some small apartment in the Narrows (a crude place, but it was an excellent place to avoid hassle from the law enforcement). He smiled and looked back down to his lap. All questions had been answered but one.

"Seven across, four words: An old Irish law which demands that a murderer pays a fine to the family of his victim' Hmm, that's a tricky one..."

His concentration was broken before he could finish thinking out loud. The buzzer rang loudly, causing him to leap up, the puzzle book and chocolate truffles scattering all over his floor.

"That wasn't my fault!" He snapped. Diving to the floor and scrambling to pick everything up. "It's not fair! I didn't mean to! Who the hell's pressing my doorbell? I don't have people calling!" Inwardly, he snarled. If it was one of his henchmen, the bastard would pay dearly for showing him up, nobody made a fool out of him, nobody (regardless of whether there was somebody to see such 'humiliation' or not). Stalking over to the intercom, he straightened up and said as friendlily as he could muster: "Good afternoon, how may I help you." He reviewed how he sounded in his mind. It may have appeared welcoming, but hopefully, even an idiot would pick up on the danger in his voice.

"Don't take that tone with me Nygma." He heard the voice of an old friend fill the apartment. Nygma's heart rose to hear Jonathan Crane's voice again, the news a few weeks ago had been filled with his amazing escape from Arkham, aided by a new, unknown assailant. At first, it was a divine riddle to him, who was this 'Psyche?' Crane had certainly never mentioned her before he disappeared, but then he, The Riddler, had pieced together the evidence in a way that only he (thought) he could. It was clearly Catherine Adams, the very girl who he had kidnapped before disappearing for over a year. It was perfectly obvious, to nobody but him. Why else would the girl have her face smashed in before having her body burnt? Surely anybody could see that? Edward raised an eyebrow at the intercom, still not convinced that it was who it said it was. Perhaps he should try a riddle questioning the true identity of said Psyche. Before he could however, Crane's voice said angily:

"Nygma, you're the only one in the phonebook who would go by Mr. C. Lue. I doubt you're a Chinese man up there and I'm not going to go through that entire boring rigmarole of saying I'm Iriving Washington and answer a riddle, it's freezing out here, now hurry up and open the door..."

"You're not Jonathan Crane!" Declared Nygma confidently, "Hah, you think you can trap me? I...oh there you go again! Trying to trick me into confessing I'm somebody I'm not? For future reference, The Scarecrow, in all the time that I have known him, has never complained about the cold. Good day to you sir." He took his finger off the button and turned back to his chair to answer the crossword he left, when an English woman asked, "Thought you said this guy was a genius? And how can you be cold right now? You're wearing the same as me and I'm boiling..."

Edward spun around. According to the papers, Crane and (who he had figured to be) Cat Adams had disappeared together, if Jonathan Crane really was on his doorstep, maybe he would have her with him, but that would be so out of character for him. Jonathan Crane was a solitary person who never really revelled in human company, social situation or other. The man was condescending towards Harley Quinn and always gassed any female fan that approached him with his trademark gas. Why wouldn't he have killed this one as soon as she stopped being useful?

"Maybe she is a rare jewel." He announced to nobody in particular, unlocking the door and sprinting down the stairs despite being in only an emerald green silk dressing gown. He was eager to meet this elusive Catherine Adams, the girl who Jonathan had deemed worthy enough to not only live, but breath his oxygen. He excitedly threw open the door to the waiting visitors outside.

Jonathan Crane pulled off his cap, his overgrown crow black hair falling into his eyes. A semi smile appeared on his face seeing his old friend. Edward noted that one hand was behind him, holding onto something which was hiding behind the tall, skinny man in front of it.

"Riddler." He nodded curtly, ignoring Nygma's cheesy grin.

"Jonathan! How extremely improbable that you would find me here when even the Batman couldn't..."

"Nygma, we devised the pseudonym scheme years ago, you somehow thought Mr. Lue wasn't obvious. You're the only one in the phonebook with it." Edward laughed jovially.

"Ah, just so that you could always find me Mr. I. Washington." Nygma fired back. Crane remained deadpan, but from behind him, Nygma heard a slight snigger.

"And who is your friend Jonathan?" He asked jovially, trying to peer around Crane's back. Jonathan didn't smile.

"Catherine." He ordered the person behind him. A small person stepped out from behind his back, her eyes firmly planted on the floor.

"I dare not look on your face,

A once beloved maiden

Wronged by those in power

Your beauty faded

Your temperament jaded,

Those of you turned to stone."

Cat looked up confused. The red haired man looked at her expectedly. She raised her eyebrows at him. The way Crane had described who she assumed was now The Riddler, she had thought of him as some genius, not an idiot who didn't make sense. She looked him over. Nygma was tall (though not like Crane), and was very distinctive. He had huge green eyes which seemed to bore into her. They only seemed more distinctive with the brilliant red hair on top of his head. He seemed very handsome, with a feline, dangerous quality about him (though of course, not in Crane's league). It was with this confusion that Cat felt her fear drain away.

"Err...what?" She asked confused. This led to a sleek, ginger eyebrow being raised.

"What is the answer to my riddle?" He asked, his tone becoming more demanding. Cat just stared at him, completely gone out. Jonathan glanced at her, convinced that he would see fear in her eyes. To his relief, they were knitted together in bewilderment. Her mouth was also thinned out, probably over Edward's constantly calling her 'dear,' he hadn't called her such things in ages, but he remembered how it used to annoy her because she hated being patronised. He cleared his throat.

"Perhaps we can continue this inside Nygma? Away from just anybody being able to see us?" He suggested firmly. Nygma looked from the clueless brunette before him and smiled at Crane.

"Come in by all means." He smiled. Cat shuddered. He smiled too much, it was unnerving after a year of Crane's blank face. Nygma looked at her.

"Medusa my dear. The answer is a Medusa, so by all means, feel free to look at me, I won't turn you to stone." Cat just looked at him witheringly.

"Whatever." She said, letting crane take her by the arm and lead her into the building.

To say that Nygma was disappointed was an understatement. He had never expected Crane to choose a partner, he always seemed asexual and married to his work. Maybe, in some romantic, cheesy fanfic which appeared on the net, he would choose a partner with extreme beauty and intelligence. Catherine Adams was just a small child with bushy hair and no head for the simplest of riddles. Why had Crane kept her alive?

He had left his apartment door open, letting the two visitors slip inside. Cat was stood besides Crane, who still hadn't taken his hand away from her arm. He glanced at her.

"Are you alright Sparrow?" He asked, placing emphasis on the 'Sparrow' to let her know what he thought of her new shy attitude. She glanced sideward at him.

"I'll be fine...it's just...he lives so normally compared to you." Crane raised an amused eyebrow.

"I'll take my hand off you now Catherine, see how you cope." And he let her go. Cat stayed rooted to the ground, unsure of what to do next, but took a few steps away from him and towards the armchair. Nygma re entered the room at this moment to witness Cat pick up his puzzle book carefully with the palms of her hands and Crane watching her with an admiring, satisfied look (it would always confuse him why).

"Ah, don't worry about those puzzles my dear, they are quite advanc..."

"Seven across. It's an 'Eric'" She muttered, taking the pen and filling it in, hissing slightly as the plastic touched her bandaged fingers, but still, she wrote a wobbly version of the answer down, smiling slightly. Nygma jumped in shock. No one touched his puzzle books, no one! And second, how did a girl like that answer such a question as hard as that? It wasn't fair!

"Are you sure it's the answer my dear? You couldn't answer the riddle downstairs..."

"Oh yes, it's the answer." Cat said quite confidently, "It's from the Middle Ages, though if you go further back in time, an Eric wasn't just if you killed him, but if you maimed him too. Think it cost like twenty shillings if you cut his nose off." Edward's mouth dropped open in shock. It didn't make sense! Eric was a name! Not an answer! Cat put the pen and book down and smiled politely. "Sorry, where can I hang this jacket up? I'm a bit warm in here."

This only enraged Nygma more. She came into his home after she was unable to solve a simple riddle, she wrote in his puzzle books then she started making herself at home. He glared at her with his harsh emerald eyes.

"I am bought and owned by my buyer

I am an extension of them and them alone,

Touch me at your peril.

What am I?"

He panted heavily, as if he'd just finished a marathon. Hopefully this child would get the answer and learn some manners. Cat stared at him for a second a bit confused, then shrugged.

"Your stash? Though I'd have to decline, I don't do the normal sort of drugs." She said, before adding "Sorry, where's your bathroom?"

* * *

Cat leaned back in the bath. It certainly was a luxury using a bath for the first time since she was in England, she had simply showered in Thailand and at Crane's. For two weeks in the barn, she had simply poured jugs of water over her head to wash her hair, wiping herself with a flannel whilst Crane sat on a chair talking to her. This Riddler certainly lived in a sort of weird normality after Crane had gone on about how unordinary he was. She scooped up some bubbles with her hand and blew them gently, taking delight in watching them disperse.

"Back to life, back to reality, back to the here and now." She sang. She peered down at her fingers. After meeting the Riddler, Jonathan had taken her into the spare bedroom and had taken her bandages off. They were scabbed and smelt, but he looked at them encouragingly.

"They're healing fine. I think it's time to leave them alone now, let them breath and put cream on them sometimes. You may take an aspirin if they hurt." She had celebrated with taking full advantage of this 'Nygma's' facilities. Looking around the bathroom now, she confirmed in her mind how obsessed the man was with the colour green. The tiles were an avocado, stuck in the 70's, not really in fitting with the debonair aura she would have expected from a man in a green silk dressing gown.

Looking at her fingers now, she felt an odd sense of detatchment from her body. They were brown crusted scabs, made wet and spongy by the water. She numbly registed the pain, and the fact that when the scabs did eventually fall off, they wouldn't be the beautiful thin female fingers which were her pride and joy when she used to play the artsy History student. By the looks of the crusting coating, they'd look less than human, but that didn't matter. As long as Cat Adams remained dead and untraceable, then she could simply have bones instead of hands and that would be attractive to her because she'd suffered for them, shown her loyalty and had pushed her body past anything any ordinary human would. She giggled to herself, how shallow she had once been.

Edward sat at his computer, googling the word 'eric,' no way a stupid answer like that was the real answer! The girl couldn't take a single riddle seriously, how could she answer a hard question like that. No, Google showed her answer. Eric was an Irish form of compensation from the Middle Ages. He angrily turned the power off. How could that (lets face it, she hardly looked as old as the news reported) child enchant someone like the Scarecrow? And how dare she answer his puzzles in HIS puzzle books. He jumped up from his seat angrily. If that girl was going to be a member of the Rogues Gallery, she had better learn the proper etiquette and how to treat he, Edward Nygma and his things with the proper respect. He had heard her singing in the bathroom...his bathroom. Never mind that she was a guest in his house, he was the owner and...well...it was HIS house. He marched to the bathroom door and banged on it angrily. Promptly, he heard the girl call:

"Ok Hannibal, I'm coming." Hannibal? HANNIBAL? So she had a sickly sweet nickname for Crane did she? He shuddered, but no, she wouldn't open the door to him in his own house, it was HIS door, if she was decent, then there was no reason why he couldn't just go straight in. He seized the knob, twisted it and threw the door open.

* * *

Cat put her fingers back into the water, again, registering the numb pain but feeling her essence seep out of her body and become one with the hot water.

Suddenly, there was a sharp banging at the door. At first, Cat squeaked in surprise, but smiled. It was Crane coming to tell her that she had spent too much time in the bathroom, contrary to the last two weeks when he had been with her as she'd poured water over her head. It was business as usual now (thank god), she smiled and began to get out of the water.

"Ok Hannibal, I'm coming." She called, putting her hands on the sides and easing herself out of the bath. As she stood up, dripping and naked, she reached for a towel on the side, when the door burst open. She jumped a little, about to open her mouth and snap at Jonathan for not giving the usual waiting period (as hazy as her perception of time and space was, she knew that the timing was off), when she beheld Nygma, now dressed in black trousers and a black silk shirt, only increasing his panther-like appearance.

Time seemed to stand still, everything, including her heart beat stopped. She stared at him shocked. A man was in the bathroom, a man was looking at her naked. The man had the same dangerous look on him as...as...

"EDDIE? OH MY FUCKING GOD!" She screamed, peeling the colouring on the tiles. She moved to jump out of the bath and reach for the towel, but slipped on the bottom of the bath. Falling out and onto the floor, banging her arm quite hard, Cat continued screaming in panic and fear instead of pain. Nygma took a step backwards, confused at the situation which was happening. What on Earth was the girl on about? Why was she overreacting like thi...

His thoughts were interrupted however, as Crane barged past him, sprinting into the bathroom and heading straight for the screaming, naked woman who pressed up by the wall next to the bath, trying to make herself disappear. Jonathan Crane looked furious.

"EDWARD! WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?" He yelled at his acquaintance. Cat Adams stopped screaming and looked at the doctor in horror, her dark eyes wide open in shock.

"He's a...actually c...called Edward?..." She asked breathlessly, before exhaling and collapsing. Crane darted forward to catch her, clutching her tightly to his chest with one arm and covering her body with the elusive white fluffy towel with the other. As he carried the unconscious woman out of the bathroom, Edward saw Crane turn to him, a strange dark colour in his eyes.

"Only Crane gets to see Cat Adams naked, understand Nygma?" He growled in a dangerous tone, "Pull anything like that again, and I'll throw you into your worst nightmares. Comprendez?" Edward took a step back, realising that Crane's alter ego was out. He gulped and nodded quickly. He may have been a match for the Dark Knight, but even he, Edward Nygma wasn't stupid enough to take on Jonathan Crane's psychosis. Scarecrow snarled in reply, spinning on his heels and carrying the unconscious girl back to Crane's room, slamming the door shut.

* * *

**Hey Fanfic!**

** And there you have, the start of the Riddler/Psyche rivalry. It's only going to get more volatile from here.**

** Ok, did this chapter like this because, if you read my other story "The Game," I'm portraying Cat as VERY differently to this. I guess we all have to accept that Cat will become a dangerous force to be reckoned with, but after all that happened in Psyche, she is kind of messed up, you don't go from being a prisoner to criminal mastermind over night, the violence is there, but she needs someone to train her to know how to channel her anger. Thank god that happens to be a psychatrist lol (though clearly, he's not below being the object of her rage either). So thought it'd be a great psych. thing to show you the two different portrayals  
**

**If you haven't got it yet, he shot her and intentionally gave her a flesh wound to see how she'd react. If she cried, she'd be too weak and would not be able to join him in his life of crime (hence why he sees it as having to put a much loved pet down), but if she just accepted he did it, she'd be like Harley and thats not something he wants.**

**Ok, Melinoe's going to go on hiatus for a bit whilst I finish The Game, partially because I promised Decepti-Kitty I'd write it for her, partially because it's a future storyline and if I wrote anymore for this, it'd ruin a HUGE twist in the story of the Game. Mostly though, I prefer writing Cat as an uber bitch than this helpless, insane waif that she is now (and don't believe the first chapter to that story, somethings coming up for all you Catherine fans which I think you'll be happy with xx)  
**

**Thanks to Highland for the songs to represent Cat and Crane (just be good to me by Band SOS), Cat will be singing them at some point ;)**

**And to Panda, if you want to see Decepti-Kitty's work on DA, here's a link (It's mostly the Game fan art but there is a pic of Cat and Crane there which I like xx): **

.com/

**Merry Christmas to all my readers if I don't update before then (quite upset, there is a christmas storyline of sorts for this, but we still need to get past Halloween here. Ah well, it'll be a late holiday chapter lol)**

**Artemis out**

**PS: Don't forget to review   
**


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